


Green

by ofaclassicalmind



Series: Colors [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, But written before Season 8 Episode 5 aired, F/M, Fix-It, In which the author defines the 'bittersweet' ending, Post Season 8 Episode 4, Season 8x04 spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-06
Updated: 2019-05-06
Packaged: 2020-02-27 05:38:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18732691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ofaclassicalmind/pseuds/ofaclassicalmind
Summary: We all know why we're here. Short, bittersweet, possible endgame for Braime based on the events of Season 8 Episode 4. One-shot.





	Green

She discovers her little secret two weeks after he’s left, when she can’t hold down food or drink for more than a few minutes. To her surprise, it’s Pod who asks her if it’s a possibility.

Keeping it isn't the difficult choice; where to go next is another matter entirely.

* * *

When she approaches Lady Sansa in the godswood, she’s there with her brother, who remains silent as Brienne explains her situation. Asking permission to leave, to return to Tarth, is the second hardest thing she’s ever done—

Next to watching him ride away.

Sansa’s eyes well with tears, and Brienne hates how she sets her jaw, hates how she’s letting the young woman down. But as Sansa steps forward, wrapping her arms around her thick waist, Brienne can’t help but return the embrace, tears of her own trickling down her cheeks.

“Please, write to me,” Sansa half-begs, stepping back to take her hands in her own, swallowing hard.

Brienne nods, squeezing her small, gloved hands before turning to walk away, doing her best to crush the threat of more tears.

“He didn’t want to leave.”

She stops immediately, looking over her shoulder at Bran, who stares at her with a wistful look on his face.

“Cersei can only be brought down by someone who truly knows her,” Bran explains. “Ser Jaime understood what part he had to play. He only wanted to protect you.”

A rattling breath escapes her, its beauty against the brittle winter air lost on her as she closes her eyes, bowing her head.

“He will return for you,” Bran finishes.

At this, a choked sob escapes her throat, and she can feel Sansa’s hands on her left arm, pulling her close as she begins to openly weep.

“It’s your choice,” Sansa whispers after a few minutes. “Whether you choose to stay or go, you will always be welcome here.”

Brienne’s tears subside as she smiles, pulling away to meet her lady’s blue eyes, eyes so like her mother’s.

“Thank you, my lady.”

And with more strength than she ever knew she had, she walks away.

* * *

The ship’s movement makes her nausea unbearable, and she’s almost as green as the eyes she wants to forget when she greets her father, who simply holds out his resilient arms to her and pulls her as close as he can with the babe beginning to protrude through the dress Sansa had made for her. She rests her head against his shoulder, his evenly matched height giving her a sense of comfort she’d all but forgotten.

For a long moment, he says nothing as she releases a shaky breath, and then—

“You’re home at last, little star,” he breathes, his own voice unsteady.

She presses her eyes shut, allowing the scents of the sea and lavender to devour her.

* * *

She can see it in the way the midwives fearfully glance at one another, can feel it in the way her heart is beating fast, too fast, her body losing more blood than she can afford.

It’s a debt that will kill her, and she knows it.

How poetic, she thinks, that a woman who survived the Great War would die on her birthing bed.

When they tell her to push, she does so with what might she still possesses, and when she hears the screams of that child, one midwife runs to retrieve her father, who has been waiting outside—

But the other midwife puts the babe in her arms, and there they are, just as she remembered them: Sea green eyes, gazing up at her in wonder, the babe’s lips slightly parted.

“It’s a girl, my lady.”

She allows her body to bend over her daughter, her weak sobs wracking her frame. Sobs of joy, sobs of sorrow...

As Selwyn falls to his knees beside the bed, she sees the tracks that tears of worry have carved into his face, and realizes that she’ll fail him once more. She left him years ago, and she would have to leave him again. He tries to smile at her, brushing her sweat-dampened hair out of her face, caressing the knuckles of his hand against the cheek of his granddaughter.

“What will you name her?” he asks, though she can tell he’s trying to ignore the fact that she will soon be gone.

For a minute, she allows her mind to wander to him; to the days they spent trudging through the Riverlands; the month that they were prisoners, the stench of shit and blood mingling with the trust she had gained; the Valyrian steel sword she hadn’t been able to wield for months; the familiar weight of his body on the bed beside her.

And, at the root of it all, one woman came to mind. A woman whose courage she had finally found within herself.

“Catelyn,” she says, her vision blurring even as she said it. But there were no tears. “I want... Catelyn. Please,” she manages.

His body shudders, no longer able to deny what’s about to happen, so he moves to sit beside her on the bed, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and resting his chin against her head. She leans into him, staring down at those green eyes.

Even here, at the end, she couldn’t bring herself to hate him; not when she still loved him, had always loved him.

“If he...” she stammers, her eyes never leaving Catelyn’s, “if he comes... Promise me you’ll let him stay. Please...”

She feels him kiss the top of her head in answer, and she smiles down at her daughter, the sound of the waves outside her window starting to drown her.

“I am so proud of you, little star,” she hears him say from far away. “So proud.”

As she lets the darkness embrace her, she still sees a familiar color.

* * *

He arrives two weeks later, after the funeral, after they’ve sent her into the Narrow Sea, as is the tradition of their house.

Selwyn examines the aging man’s face as he tells him she’s gone, that she had died giving birth. Lord Lannister falls to his knees at the news, defeated and broken, and Selwyn sees a raw form of grief dancing in his green eyes. He had truly loved his little girl. It was all he could have ever asked of any man, that his daughter would be loved for who she was, not what the world wanted her to be.

When the great lord is able to stand again, Selwyn takes him to her, watching as he reaches down with his left hand, her tiny fingers grasping his pinky.

“Her name?” he softly asks.

The man weeps with bittersweet happiness when he learns it, looking down at his daughter as though he will never see something so beautiful as her again in his lifetime.

Selwyn knows he won’t, smiling through fresh tears.

**Author's Note:**

> I had the idea last night, based on NCW's last shooting location and an interview about how he shot his last scene with a character he's never met on the show before. This ensued. No, I didn't sleep well last night. Thanks for asking. 
> 
> Also, if you like it, please share it around! I'm actually pretty proud of this guy. :)
> 
> (Yes, I highly suspect Jaime was trying to protect Brienne. NCW is about to CRY in that scene. No way he actually wants to leave her.)


End file.
